The Twilight Games
by Breathing Fire
Summary: The rebellion failed. Katniss and Peeta died and the Capitol won. Now they have created biological monsters one hundred years later to show the newly budding rebellion an example. And this is one game that nobody wants to play. Twilight/THG
1. Preface

**Preface**

The Games were rigged.

I knew this, and so did they.

But what could I do? They'd already taken the plans from me, the head Gamemaker, and twisted it that no sane human would understand. The others have been brainwashed somehow, and they've already agreed to have only twelve tributes in the next one hundred and seventy fifth Hunger Games- the Quarter Quell. There will be consequences for this. I have to stop them somehow. The games were made to show the rebels an example, but this goes beyond everything anyone can ever imagine. If it spreads, we will no longer exist. Rowan has planned something beyond Panem.

If you read this, I beg you, do something. Follow the jay with the white wing. I wish you good luck. And more than anything….

don't forget how to be human.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or Twilight. This is my first fanfiction, crossover or otherwise, so bear with me please ^^ It should be updated often.


	2. Introduction

Introduction: The One Hundred Seventy Fifth Hunger Games

_This is the day._

Swallowing back excitement, which was very rare for him, President Alma Rowan stood below the platform, waiting for it to open. The last time he had been up here was when he had been appointed President after the death of Snow, more than twenty years ago. Snow really had been lucky to survive for this long. He would have to do better.

The platform rose with a soft snick and the president found himself looking into the most elite of Capitol's eyes. He had to stop his lips from naturally forming into a sneer. These silly people. His gaze traveled across glimmer skin, bat wings, scarlet and ultramarine eyes. Next to them was the holographic camera. He counted mentally, ignoring the cameraman and the world around him. Three, two, one…

President Rowan cleared his throat and looked up at the screen to see himself speaking.

"This Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that even the fittest young men and woman cannot escape the Capitol's grasp, those from the age of sixteen to twenty two will be chosen as tributes." He paused to clear his throat. "For compensation, only one tribute will be chosen per district." He heard the gasping of the Capitol people around him- for some reason, he could never think of them as _his_ people- and the high pitched squeaking of heels on cement as the reporters tried to reach him and failed for the burly peacekeepers pushing them away. He brushed the open-mouthed scientists away without a word when he had reached his destination, stepping straight off of the elevator into the conservatory.

It was large, sturdily built, and glass several inches thick covered every wall of the room. Before President Rowan, separated by the glass, stood a beautiful, humanoid creature with skin almost like carved marble and eyes like jewels.

"Hello." the president said, holding out a hand. Though the creature could not reply, it reached out its hand and their hands had almost seemed to touch when it suddenly rolled on the ground in agony, screaming over and over.

"President Rowan, sir, the experiment has not yet been finished." He was in another room, and the lead scientist looked worried as he stared at the creature, whom was still immobile on the floor.

"The experiment has not yet been perfected, Prime?"

"Yes, sir."

"Make sure it will be ready in time for the arena. As Henrich has been disposed of, do not infect anyone until the second day. Three, if possible."

"Yes, sir, president sir."

"Very good." And the president turned on his heel and walked away, the screams of the creature below him still ringing in his ears.


	3. Interlude AN

AN: This is not beta-ed, and is rough. It is also a part because I don't know when I can next update. Sorry everyone.

D1 – Tortured Rebel

_Edward Cullen, District One_

"EDWARD CULLEN, COME DOWN FROM THERE RIGHT NOW! THE PRESIDENT'S SHOWING ON TV!"

"Screw you." I mutter, pulling down the double layer of sheets that had once covered my body. Damn. It's the day of the reaping, and to be honest, I couldn't care any effing less- though Elizabeth does. And… to be honest, the bit I do care is only because of the people- or to be precise, person- I know. My uncle, Carlisle- twenty two, but he looks thirty, maybe cause he's a doctor- used to care an awful lot about the games. I don't know him very much- just that he moved to another lesser distinct, earning disapproval from my father- but still.

"EDWARD!" I stifle a laugh. My sister can be absolutely ridiculous sometimes when it comes to these national ceremonies, and especially the reaping. I stomped purposely loudly down the stars, ruffling my reddish-bronze hair. Just in time to see President Rowan, looking surprisingly old- I'd expected him to look younger, all decorated with makeup and maybe even gemstones here and there- plucking a yellowed card from a stack of ancient looking envelopes. He clears his throat once.

"This Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that even the fittest young men and woman cannot escape the Capitol's grasp, those from the age of sixteen to twenty four will be chosen as tributes." He pauses, again, to clear his throat. "For compensation, only one tribute will be chosen per district."

There's an instant uproar, and for a few seconds I don't understand. What even is the matter? But then the reality sinks in, and then I'm really confused. Not just the age part, but the compensation. Capitol's never given a damn about how the district's loss of twenty four people, and it doesn't make sense. Beth's gasping beside me, but the only thing I register after about thirty seconds is that Rowan's being whisked away from the hysterical crowd by a bunch of burly Peacekeepers.

I turn my eyes from the screen and stare at Beth, who stares back.

"Okayyyyyyyyyy." I say, and she giggles quietly. "What was that all about?"


End file.
